


Because You're My Home in Human Form

by noelre



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelre/pseuds/noelre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, the Oikawa Tooru he knows is vulnerable on Sunday evenings. Fragile. Insecure. Not at all like the peacock prancing in broad daylight spreading its flashy wings. It’s this Oikawa Tooru he’s willing to wrap his arms around and keep him safe from all harm the world tries to throw at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You're My Home in Human Form

Hajime’s mind’s wrapped around mathematical problems that he only seems capable of solving on a Sunday darkness nearing midnight. He chews the end of the pencil and stares down at the paper with that harsh scrunch of brows that Tooru always mocks, but Tooru’s not here to give snide little comments. Right now, he rather prefers it that way when he tries to figure out equations that make no sense to him. Grumbles of annoyance escape him, over and over again. He tugs the page of the notebook free and rumbles it. Throws it over his shoulder and tries again from a clean state.

 

He struggles, but part of him enjoys that, how nothing in life comes without trying, without making mistakes and learning from them. Hajime moves his tongue mid-mouth and focuses. The equation might be laughing at him, but he’ll be the one chuckling last. The paper turns grey when he runs the eraser over it. He pulls his legs clothed comfy in sweatpants with him on the chair and rests his chin on his hand. Closes his eyes briefly and wonders if Tooru is already asleep. Probably. The guy’s frantic about his sleep. Something about his skin glowing better that way. Hajime rubs the pads of his fingers over his cheeks absentmindedly. Perhaps his skin would glow, too, or look as pretty as Tooru’s does.

 

It’s the latter thought that makes him jolt. It even brings a flush on his cheeks but he ignores it. He’s quite good at it.

 

He’s halfway through the problem and the cup of coffee, too, when his phone vibrates on the other side of the desk. Lowly Hajime groans and runs his palms over his face, wants to sleep already. But he’s stubborn like that and only gave himself permission to fall on the bed once he’s done with this, not a moment sooner. Too bad his eyelids are growing heavy. He rubs them to the back of his palm as he grabs the phone. Sees an incoming call and Tooru’s name plastered to it. Odd. He frowns. Answers anyway.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Iwa-chan_.” Tooru’s tone is whining, but not quite like it always is. There’s more delicacy in it this time. He doesn’t continue.

 

Hajime clenches his teeth together. “You’re supposed to be asleep,” he says, like a worrying mother he sometimes feels he is. “It’s almost midnight, don’t call me.”

 

“ _But this is important_.”

 

“Spit it out, then.” He’s a bit too tired for this game again.

 

There’s a small pause. “ _I want cuddles_.”

 

Hajime squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten in his head. No reason to get mad. It’s a genuine concern, probably, judging from Tooru’s voice. Tooru always gets a bit funny on Sunday evenings if they’re not spending them together. Carefully Hajime flutters his eyes open and stares down at the math book. Hesitates. Grabs a pen and drums it against his notebook.

 

“How bad?” he eventually asks. His voice cracks.

 

“ _Pretty bad_.”

 

He has few options and he knows them. The problem is, Tooru never explicitly says it. ‘Come here’, that is. Hajime knows Tooru wants to, but the words never pass the pretty lips. Not even once. He always has to figure it out. Well, he used to have to, now he simply knows. He eyes at the door of his room. The light is gone from the crack of it near the floor. Hajime hangs his head down and thinks.

 

“I’ve already showered,” he tries with a mutter. It’s true. His short hair is still damp. The droplets tickle his nape.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Tooru says, and he says it like he’s never done before.

 

It’s enough for Hajime to make up his mind. “Give me fifteen,” he sighs.

 

“ _I’ll leave the backdoor open, just be quiet, everyone’s sleeping._ ”

 

“Just like you should be,” are his parting words.

 

It takes the fifteen he’s asked to tiptoe from his room outside the house, across the street, turn around the corner, and towards the Oikawa house. At least he left a note to his mother, he’s probably not returning until it’s morning. He’s used to this, sneaking out at night to Tooru, ever since they were kids and knew nothing about anything. It makes him smile now. He’s freezing and didn’t even bother with a jacket. Afterwards, he’ll blame Tooru when he catches a cold. Hajime stops in the middle of the empty street and looks up to the sky. Full of stars, just like Tooru adores it. Maybe he’ll talk to him about them tonight. Ask him to explain once more about the constellations because they never get stuck in his head. Tooru will probably tell him patiently again for the hundredth time.

 

Hajime sneaks to the backyard through the familiar route and pulls open the door, shuts it gently behind his back and tries not to make too much noise. The last thing he wants is the family to wake up to his night crawling. His steps are so very careful as he climbs up the stairs. They screech underneath his weight, and he curses his decision once more. He swears never to come here in the middle of the night again.

 

Too bad that promise has never hold up.

 

He knocks on the door once, then pauses, then two times more, because that’s their code. Behind the door Tooru chirps like a bird for two times, and it’s silly, it’s ridiculous, but they were seven and thought it was the coolest thing ever. Now they’re eighteen and still doing it, and in a way it’s sort of sad. Also, pretty funny. Hajime sucks in his lower lip and enters.

 

The lights are on. Tooru sits in the middle of the bed. It’s painfully obvious he’s been crying, his eyes circled and painted by red. Hajime feels pinned to the spot. There’s nothing worse than seeing your best friend cry. Or the aftermath of it. Tooru quivers slightly but still risks a smile. It’s a broken one, sad, but tries to mask as happy. Hajime feels the need to tell him to stop fucking around and stop smiling if he doesn’t feel like it, but such things don’t roll off his tongue. They never do.

 

Instead, he sighs. Takes steps closer, and Tooru scoots over. They never need words, neither now. Tooru plops down on the bed on his side and Hajime follows. He laces his arm over Tooru’s waist and pulls his back to his chest, holds him close. Tooru really wasn’t lying when he told that the need for cuddles was bad. There are questions circling in Hajime’s head but he doesn’t know where to start. Maybe he shouldn’t. He works his thumb over Tooru’s hipbone like he so often does, and Tooru moves to a smaller curl. It’s so quiet, and then it’s pierced by little sniffles coming in front of him. Hajime sighs. He traces the tip of his nose against Tooru’s shoulder. Kind of feels like kissing the spot but that’s a line they haven’t crossed yet.

 

“The stars were out tonight,” he says, muffled, choked. “Did you see ‘em?”

 

Tooru nods.

 

“There was that one thing, what is it called again? The one that looks like a bear.”

 

Tooru presses his back better to Hajime’s chest. “Ursa Major,” he murmurs so softly.

 

“Right, right. And the small bear?”

 

“Ursa Minor, but you didn’t see it. Wasn’t in the sky today.”

 

“Shit. My bad.” Hajime gives an attempt of a smile, but it’s not great, and luckily Tooru doesn’t even see it.

 

The thing is, the Oikawa Tooru he knows is vulnerable on Sunday evenings. Fragile. Insecure. Not at all like the peacock prancing in broad daylight spreading its flashy wings.

 

It’s this Oikawa Tooru he’s willing to wrap his arms around and keep him safe from all harm the world tries to throw at him.

 

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks. His brows dip to a deep frown as he rests his chin on Tooru’s shoulder. He cannot ignore the sniffles and snot-filled inhales anymore.

 

Tooru shrugs, then rubs his eyes to the back of his palm covered in a sloppy sleeve. “Just needed cuddles. Someone close and caring.”

 

“You have your fan girls.”

 

“I need something _meaningful_ , Iwa-chan.” Tooru looks at Hajime over his shoulder, and for once there’s anger flashing across his face. A click of a tongue, and Tooru looks elsewhere. His ears glow, but he tugs Hajime’s arm better around his waist. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Try me,” Hajime dares.

 

“I—“ Tooru cuts himself off. His breath shivers. He still trembles in Hajime’s arms. “I don’t need someone adoring my looks or… or, you know…” He swallows hard, and the noise echoes. “Just need someone who cares and… holds me on… on Sunday nights, I suppose.”

 

Hajime hums. “I’m here, aren’t I? I come whenever you call, isn’t that enough?”

 

It takes a moment, but Tooru wiggles around in the embrace until he’s facing Hajime. They stare into each other’s eyes, and why hasn’t Hajime noticed before what a lovely shade of brown Tooru’s eyes are? Remind him of hot chocolate in the coldest winter mornings; of the roasted coffee beans in their favorite café; of the truffles Tooru got him for Valentine’s and the ones he bought Tooru back on a White Day because Tooru doesn’t like white chocolate. His heart skips a beat, then another. Another, another, until he’s a mess and doesn’t know what to think anymore. Or rather, he does know what to think but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to.

 

Tooru touches his cheek. “Iwa-chan…”

 

“Oikawa,” mutters Hajime but corrects himself, breathless, “Tooru.”

 

Tooru’s eyes widen. “Hajime,” he whispers. It’s intimate, tasting each other’s names in the dead of night. Tooru looks at him, careful, hesitant, glances into his eyes and then at his lips. “Can I…?”

 

Hajime nods.

 

It’s a kiss he’s prepared himself ever since he was four and stumbled across Tooru the first time. He didn’t know what it was called back then, but he learned. Found out that Tooru was special to him, and he’s been thinking of kissing him properly since he was thirteen and finally found out how in love he is. Their lips bump together, softly, barely, and neither of them moves. It’s clumsy and awkward, but when Tooru pulls back, neither of them laughs. Instead, they look into each other’s eyes again.

 

Then, Tooru mutters, “That was the worst first kiss ever.”

 

Hajime shrugs. “Kinda liked it.”

 

Tooru slaps him on the arm. “Don’t be stupid, that was bad. Let me try again.”

 

They do exactly that. Hajime’s seen Tooru kiss people before, right under his nose, and he wonders if the others have ever felt the fireworks that now fill his stomach. They rumble from his belly to his chest, and then travel to his fingertips that grasp Tooru tight. He pulls him against his chest, desperate, afraid that if he lets go, they will revert back to what they were. Pretending. Ignoring. Because Hajime knows. He knows how Tooru looks at him when he thinks he doesn’t see, knows how he hasn’t been happy to receive love letters in years, knows how he cries even on those Sunday evenings when he’s not there to hold him and cradle him to sleep.

 

Tooru’s lips are soft, like butterfly’s wings fluttering across his mouth, and then it’s gone. Hajime opens his eyes that he didn’t realize he closed and looks at Tooru. And his best friend, he looks raw, frail, the way only he sees him. Maybe no one else looks like he does, or maybe Tooru hides it away. But Hajime’s grateful he sees him. He sees him, and it’s the only thing he wants to see.

 

He feels so poetic. “You know.” His words ghost Tooru’s face. “All that you are… it’s all that I ever need.”

 

Tooru chuckles. “You’re so silly, Iwa-chan.”

 

“Hey, at least I try, all right? Give me that if nothing else.”

 

Finally Tooru cracks a smile.

 

“It was the truth, though.” Hajime knows he’s positively glowing but _hell_ , he might as well do this now that they’ve started. Kissing and everything – they’re no longer friends. He doesn’t need the special words to confirm that. “I mean it, idiot, so don’t cry anymore.”

 

“I know you do, and I won’t. I won’t.” So he says, but he’ll probably cry a bit some other day, too. Tooru yanks Hajime’s arm up and settles cozily in the crook of it, rests his head on his chest. “I feel the same.”

 

Hajime stares up at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars have been attached ten years ago. Beside them is a glowing alien face. It’s a surprise they’re still up. Maybe Tooru has been re-attaching them whenever they’ve fallen down. It’s a thought enough to make a smile twitch on Hajime’s lips. It’s also a smile enough to make Tooru kiss it. They share one, long, gentle, lingering.

 

“Tell me about that one again,” he says and points up to the ceiling.

 

“Canes Venatici,” Tooru says. “The hunting dogs, not very bright stars. Pretty small. You probably saw it tonight, it’s right next to Ursa Major. It’s your favorite, Iwa-chan, isn’t it?”

 

“How come?”

 

“Because it has that star with a funny name on it.”

 

“Remind me of it again.”

 

Tooru grins. “ _La Superba_.”

 

“Oh, right. Right. Yeah, definitely my favorite, very superb.”

 

They have a good laugh about it. It’s ridiculous but at the same time so them.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all of us who have no one to hold us when we feel down on Sunday evenings. When the time comes, we'll find our own Iwa-chans, but until then, we are so worth everything. Never forget that.


End file.
